Mornings
by percabethjpg
Summary: To say that he wasn't a morning person would be an understatement. Yet somehow, she changes his mind. / AU. Oneshot.


He wakes up to the warmth resting on his cheek.

He hates sunlight and the feeling was so foreign, but it was somewhat pleasant at the same time - at least, pleasant enough to refrain him from throwing the covers over his head.

He shifts and digs himself deeper in the comfort of his duvet. _Three more minutes_ , he tells himself. It is a lie he is all too familiar with.

However, he remembers something that makes him take his "promise" back. _Wait_. _She's here._

Memories of last night come back to him gradually, like a trickle from a leaking faucet. She's visiting again after maybe two, three weeks of not seeing each other. He remembers picking her up from the airport, all tired from the flight but still cute and excited. They ate in their favorite Chinese restaurant for dinner, talking about whatever. It was nice to see that even if they texted almost every day, they still found things to talk about. Conversations between them were smooth flowing, as always. They went back to his apartment after that and slept together.

Not in the romantic sense, by the way. Just sleep together. Literally. Not that he's complaining – for him, her presence is more than enough.

He tries to recall why she was here; there must have been some important reason for her to fly all the way from San Francisco. Maybe she needs to attend an event, or she accepted an internship here. Besides, as far as he remembers, it isn't his birthday anytime soon -

Oh right. The important reason was _him_.

He extends his arm to the other side of the bed (the right side, because he always slept on the left, away from the window). He expects her smooth skin, but he is disappointed when his fingers meet cold sheets. With reluctance, he opens an eye, squinting thanks to the inconvenience called sunlight. He makes a mental note to change the curtains in his room. It takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust.

Saying that he wasn't a morning person would be an understatement. He didn't like the sun. No, he loves the bright city lights and how he feels under them. He loves looking out the window at night and seeing all these tiny squares of light on the horizon, thinking how each square corresponds to a person or a family. He likes seeing the tiny red lights speeding down below, pretending that every single one of them is on their way back to their families. He loves listening the soft hum of the city at an ungodly hour – he imagines it as a creature not quite awake yet not quite asleep either, only stirring with the occasional car horn, thunder, or siren.

But this view of her, curled up on his beige armchair in a worn-out, clumsily buttoned, and oversized flannel with the sleeves rolled up, nose buried in a tattered copy of some book, is enough to convince him that mornings aren't so bad. In fact, it's enough to make him stop hating mornings altogether.

The sight of her makes him ache. He inhales deeply, as if doing so would untangle the knot-like thing he has in chest.

She's beautiful, as always. He props himself up on the pillow to get a better view of her. She looks so focused on the text, biting her lower lip as her eyes scan the words on the page. Her blonde hair is in a messy bun and he knows for a fact that she's not wearing that very confusing and magical female thing called highlighter (it's far, far too early for that), but somehow, she still looks like she is glowing.

He is transported back to the first time he saw her. Her hair was tied back into pigtails with blue ribbons and she wore a dress the shade of blue cotton candy. She had on white sneakers with soles that lit up whenever she took a step. He remembers how she consoled him after he scraped his knee and that he decided blue was now his favorite color.

He remembers the first dance they ever attended in middle school. Back then, they were both awkwardly too skinny for their height. She was still a little bit taller than him, not that he would ever admit it. He remembers his mom taking about a billion pictures and him complaining whenever she wasn't pointing the camera at them, even though he secretly loved it. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore a black dress that sparkled like the constellations in the sky. She wore stupid black heels too, and they caused her feet to hurt so much he had to give her a piggyback ride on the way to their favorite pizza place.

He remembers their first day in senior high, when she wore something other than her usual baggy t-shirts and ill-fitting jeans in public for the first time. He remembers how a lot of boys approached her that day, asking for her number (he glared at whoever approached until it got pretty awkward). He remembers that so many boys started to stare at her, as if they just realized that she was pretty. As if she suddenly became pretty over the summer. They were all wrong, though. To him, she has been beautiful ever since.

He remembers the first heartbreak he had ever felt. He remembers her bringing enough ice cream for a small family, along with DVDs of his favorite movies. They finished about a fourth of the ice cream and two movies – his favorites, Finding Nemo and Fight Club - before they fell asleep on the couch, her head on his shoulder. His mother sneakily snapped a picture. It was still there, proudly displayed on his bedside table, right next to his alarm clock.

He remembers the first time he fell off his skateboard and broke his right arm. She was the one who called 911 because she's just sensible and levelheaded like that. She wasn't allowed to be present in the emergency room, but she waited right outside, pacing back and forth. She helped him adjust to using his left hand for a little while, assisting him with mundane tasks like eating, doing homework, and putting his shirt on. They had to pretend they both couldn't care less when he was shirtless and they were alone in his room for the first time. She was the first one to sign his cast with a sloppy 'Your best friend, Wise Girl' and a doodle of an owl.

He remembers their senior prom, where she wore a white flowing dress, her hair cascading in waves down her back. He thought she looked just like a Greek goddess. She almost ruined her make-up that night, thanks to this one idiot who stood her up. The guy asked her to prom and she said yes, but he went with someone else instead. He kept her company all night, and did all sorts of things to cheer her up. It's a good thing he didn't have a date - he didn't want to go with someone else, anyway. He remembers dancing to a song that had lyrics that expressed how he felt. He thinks it's by a band with a year for their name, but he's not too sure.

He remembers the first time he told her about how he truly felt; it was almost midnight and they were walking down the streets with no destination in mind. They had just finished watching a movie – some film adaptation about a boy being the son of the Greek god of the seas or something like that – and she was talking about how the film was so different from the book and how it was _so_ disappointing, when he interrupted her to say that he loved her. He remembers how stunned she was that he said something that was so obvious, because " _Um, I love you too. We've been best friends for ages,_ " and he remembers how she looked even more stunned when he clarified that what he felt was beyond platonic. She surprised him in return by telling him she felt the same way. He kissed her on the lips for the first time that night, and he remembers thinking that he wanted to live in that moment forever.

He thinks about was what he might have done in the past to deserve someone like her.

The answer comes to him instantly, plain and simple: _nothing_. Deep down, he still doubts that he deserves someone as precious, caring, intelligent, and drop-dead gorgeous as her. But it doesn't matter, does it? She loved him back and to him, that's all that mattered.

He continues to observe her. Minutes pass, or maybe years – he doesn't know, and he doesn't care. He could spend lifetimes just basking in her presence, and he would still be willing to do it several lifetimes more.

"You're staring," she says, not even glancing up from her book. He smirks and props himself up on his elbows.

"You're beautiful," he counters with a gravelly voice.

She shakes her head, chuckling. "Did you just make some sort of The Fault in Our Stars reference?"

"Gods, no. I don't even like that book." He lays back down on the soft, inviting pillow. "I'd pick Miles over Augustus, any day."

He hears a soft thud – it was probably her placing whatever book she had been reading on the table.

"They were both lovesick teenagers, yes, but I suppose we could favor Miles. But only out of pity, though – he is, after all, an idiot blinded by infatuation." The bed dips as she sits on the bed, next to him.

"Even if Augustus only has one leg?" He asks as she attempts to smooth down his charcoal-colored hair, chuckling as her fingers get tangled up in them. She places a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Yes," she declares. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer. She gives in, lies down under the covers, and nestles into him. He revels in the feeling of how they just _fit_ so perfectly.

He sighs contentedly. He loves having her so close to him. The feeling of her is enough to make him feel safe. _Strong_. With her next to him, he feels invincible.

"I bet it was the same with me. You're a sucker for pitiful, sad, lovesick idiots." He kisses the tip of her nose and she wrinkles it.

"Maybe I am," she says. "But you're a little bit better than Miles."

"Just a little bit?" He pouts and she smirks in response. "Is it because I can still do sick tricks on my skateboard?" He teases. She only rolls her eyes.

"No, Seaweed Brain. It's because you're my best friend. I'm supposed to say that you're better than anybody."

He pulls away slightly to look at her straight in the eyes, all business. "Even if he wrote a kick-ass essay for his final?"

"Yes. And even if you drool in your sleep." She kisses him slowly and deeply, morning breath aside.

 _Gods,_ he thought. _I love her_.

* * *

I hope you liked it! Do leave a review.

P.S. The song is Fallingforyou by The 1975. Check it out.


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